


in spite of all temptations to belong to other nations

by faith_girl222 (faithgirl)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2004-2005 NHL Lockout, 2007 NHL All-Star Game, 2009 NHL All-Star Weekend, First Time, Getting Together, M/M, Multi, NHL Entry Draft 2004, Polyamory Negotiations, Russian Superleague, Threesome, rookies in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-22 23:33:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4854857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithgirl/pseuds/faith_girl222
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the floor of the 2004 Draft, Sasha reached around Evgeni to shake Crosby's hand, and lot of weird sensations happened in his stomach while he watched their hands touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in spite of all temptations to belong to other nations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pr_scatterbrain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pr_scatterbrain/gifts).



Evgeni had been dreaming of the NHL since he was a kid watching Red Wings games, but it seemed magical, unreal, not something that was ever going to happen to him. Sasha was really sure about the NHL, about a future playing with Semin on Washington's team; he believed absolutely he would go first, and they had first pick. Sasha had almost been drafted the year before, but he really wanted to go to the Capitals so it was just as well the leap year argument for his age hadn't been taken seriously. Evgeni didn't know how to feel so certain about his own future, about what would happen or what he wanted to happen. Evgeni's English wasn't coming along that well and he'd only just finished his first year as a professional player while Sasha had just finished his _third_. Sasha was learning English ok, his comprehension was already outpacing his speech; _he_ wasn't going to need an interpreter at his post-Draft press conference. 

Flying out to North Carolina for the draft, going to events with other boys who were expected to be in the first dozen picks felt like a fantasy, like someone else's life. Everyone seemed to know better how to dress and how to act than he did. He and Sasha were roommates, but Sasha was both comforting and kind of terrible — it was good to be around someone who knew what they were doing, but it made Evgeni feel even _less_ like he knew what he was doing.

Evgeni was really glad that his brother and Aleksey had been able to come with them, so at least he could hang out with them and feel more confident and grounded, like he understood anything about how life — _his life_ — worked right now.

Aleksey was boisterous and good at not being starstruck by the whole process, or by Sasha. Evgeni might be slated as a first round pick, but Aleksey was three years older than him and part way through a degree at Magnitogorsk State Technical University, so to him Evgeni was just the goofy younger friend he'd grown up playing hockey with.

"Not even legal to drink in Mother Russia yet and already being drafted," Aleksey had said when Evgeni invited him to the draft. "They just grow up so fast!" This line of joking died pretty quickly once Denis pointed out Aleksey was himself going to be a few weeks shy of being legal in the US for the duration of the trip.

Denis was skeptical and suspicious of all the American flash and wasn't impressed by anyone, especially not by his own little brother. Despite Sasha's successes in the Superleague, Denis didn't think he took his hockey seriously, and generally made Evgeni feel like his brother thought hanging out with the presumptive first overall draft pick was a bad influence for Evgeni and his hockey. At least half of that seemed completely ridiculous.

Between them they kept Evgeni's head on straight. He'd only played with Sasha twice, once in the 2003 IIHF U18 and then at the 2004 juniors, and even Evgeni sometimes found himself susceptible to being a little more eagerly admiring of Sasha than was reasonable after spending any time near his smelly socks.

Draft Day itself was a circus. The players and their families were in arena style seats and below were 30 tables with the front office people of 30 teams getting ready to set the course of hundreds of boys' futures. Evgeni knew the Penguins had the second pick, but he couldn't be sure they'd take him until they'd taken him.

As expected, Sasha went first overall. As Evgeni watched him cross the draft floor, meet handlers and get rid of his dress jacket, another boy caught Evgeni’s eye. There weren't a lot of boys their age wandering uncoralled, and Evgeni would have thought _the first overall pick_ would be the only person their age on the floor right then. The boy stayed where he was as Sasha climbed the stage to accept his jersey and hat, and as Sasha spoke Evgeni couldn't help his attention splitting between Sasha on the stage and the boy still on the draft floor.

Sasha left the stage to talk to the press, and then it was Evgeni's turn. It felt like an out of body experience: hearing the terrible pronunciation of Magnitogorsk, standing up to hug his parents, Denis sticking his handycam in Evgeni's face, Aleksey clapping him on the shoulder, then climbing down the bleacher steps and onto the draft floor.

As he walked toward the handlers, the boy caught his eye again. He seemed kind of familiar, smiling encouragingly at Evgeni. He had an ID pass around his neck just like Evgeni's, but Evgeni he couldn't read it from that angle even if he'd felt confident interpreting the Latin characters. And then he was on stage and _Mario Lemieux_ was there, and Evgeni was a Penguin with a cap and jersey to prove it.

He didn't get a chance to go back past the boy on his way to answer press questions via an interpreter. But the draft was long, much longer than the press had questions for him, so Evgeni got to go back to rejoin his family after the press finished with him. On the draft floor, Evgeni ran bodily into the boy, who had been walking away from the stands. The boy was a lot shorter than him, maybe more than half a foot, but the impact didn't knock him over or even move him much. He smiled brightly at Evgeni again, and grabbed his elbow like _Evgeni_ was the one who needed steadying.

The boy said something, and Evgeni caught "Penguins," so he tried some of the few words he felt sure about.

"Mario Lemieux, good hockey." The boy's smile got even bigger and his eyes lit up.

"Yes!" And Evgeni knew that one, even though it was stupidly different in English; at least 'no' was kind of similar. "Evgeni Malkin, good hockey."

Evgeni blinked at him. Was that really what he'd said? He pointed at himself, and the boy nodded enthusiastically. 

"Evgeni," he said, shoving his hand out to shake. It was weird if this boy knew who he was and Evgeni only knew he looked vaguely familiar.

"Sidney," the boy said, a weird hesitant hitch in his voice. "Crosby?" he added with a hopeful lilt, and _oh_ , no wonder he seemed vaguely familiar, juniors had only been six months ago.

"Sidney Crosby, very good hockey," Evgeni said — what else could he say, Crosby was going to be the best player in the NHL when he got there — and Crosby fucking _blushed_. The blush made the weird green-gold color of his eyes stand out, and Evgeni found himself just smiling helplessly at Crosby.

He didn't even realize Crosby hadn't let go of his hand until Sasha clapped Evgeni on the back, startling him and making him jerk his hand away.

"Zhenya! My mother wants all of us to go to dinner, we need to leave soon to make the reservation time," he said, but Evgeni could tell the moment he spotted Crosby because his body language changed. "Hello," he said to Crosby, and Evgeni was so jealous of how much faster Sash was learning English if he felt like he could just initiate a conversation.

"Hello," Crosby said back, looking a bit uncomfortable, like he thought he was maybe overstaying his welcome; Evgeni could see him shifting his weight like he was getting ready to walk away.

"Sidney Crosby, he played for Canada at juniors this year," he said to Sasha but was still looking at Crosby, wondering if he really was about to leave and why Evgeni didn't want that to happen.

"Crosby!" Sasha said loudly into Evgeni's ear. He said something in English to Crosby, and Crosby was saying something back, waving his hands around. "He said he's really happy we both got drafted so high, because he thinks we're really good players. Also that Superleague games are hard to watch over here." Evgeni snorted, but he felt weirdly ... something that a player as good as Crosby had even tried to watch.

Crosby was kind of flushed now, still smiling crookedly, eyes sparkling. Evgeni had to drag his gaze away from them to try to decipher the hand gestures Crosby was making while he talked. Sasha said something back, and suddenly Crosby was laughing, _giggling_ really, and then making this _noise_ that was —Evgeni wasn't even sure how to describe it.

Sasha reached around Evgeni to shake Crosby's hand, and lot of weird sensations happened in his stomach while he watched their hands touch. "Okay, Zhenya, time to go to dinner, but Crosby is staying in the same hotel and will be here for tomorrow, we'll be able to see him later," Sasha said, and then steered Evgeni away with the hand still on his back, waving the other at Crosby.

Evgeni looked back over his shoulder and called out, "Goodbye!" as clearly as he could.

Sasha sat next to him at dinner and said enough things about Crosby that Evgeni was hard pressed to believe Sasha hadn't known plenty about him before tonight. Sasha knew what junior league he played in, what team, and he even knew some stats.

Every time Sasha leaned forward to reach for his drink, he knee pressed into Evgeni's. They weren't really drinking, but Sasha's mother had ordered champagne and had stared down their server when she asked for enough glasses for the whole table. Evgeni felt drunker than he should have, overwhelmed by the day, by meeting Crosby, by the feeling of Sasha's knee warm and solid against his own. It was hard to swallow; he had a terrible, wonderful creeping sense of comprehension of himself as he pressed his knee back against Sasha's.

Their mothers were _right there_ , but Evgeni couldn't help thinking about what it might mean, what it might lead to. Evgeni put his hand on his own knee so that the tips of his fingers were touching Sasha's, but Sasha acted like absolutely nothing was happening under the table.

Evgeni was so glad he wasn't sharing a hotel room with his brother.

***

But nothing really happened when they got back to their room. They were both exhausted and expected to face more press and media attention the next day. Sasha was inside his personal space even more than usual, more than he seemed to be with everyone, finding reasons to touch Evgeni constantly as they got ready for bed — bumping elbows, placing his hand on Evgeni's shoulder or back as they moved around each other.

Changed into pj’s and teeth brushed, Evgeni hesitated. He wanted Sasha to put his cards on the table so that he could decide what he wanted, _whether_ he wanted. He got half an answer when Sasha took his hand and tugged him into his hotel bed. It was warm and comforting to be in bed with someone else, but kind of strange too. Sasha was wriggly but cuddly, and dropped off to sleep quickly, with one hand fisted into the material of Evgeni's t-shirt.

The next morning Sasha acted like it was all completely normal, but Evgeni still wasn't sure what Sasha wanted, or even what _he_ wanted — hoped for — Sasha to want.

On the draft floor, Sasha found Crosby pretty quickly — "He keeps hovering near the Penguins table. Maybe he hoped that he would _bump_ into you there," Sasha had said, bumping his own hip into Evgeni's and doing something ridiculous with his face. — and he was off and running, talking rapidly in English to Sasha who seemed to follow everything fine. Crosby sent twitchy glances at Evgeni, like he couldn't stand not knowing how to directly include him.

"Crosby says I should translate more for you, but how am I supposed to know what he means to say to you and what he means to say to me?"

"Don't be such a smartass, Sasha. I doubt he's saying anything just to you in front of me and then asking you to translate," Evgeni said, rolling his eyes and shoving at Sasha's shoulder a bit for Crosby's benefit, so he knew Sasha was being silly.

It got Crosby giggling. It was such a strange sound but also kind of pleasant, Evgeni thought. The sort of sound anyone would want to be responsible for making Crosby make.

They were all flying out the next morning, but Sasha managed to convince Crosby he should come watch a movie in their room after dinner. 

Crosby apparently preferred sports movies, Sasha relayed — "Rocky, Mighty Ducks, etc." Sasha got a look in his eye that Evgeni had already learned meant some sort of prank was imminent. 

Sasha had borrowed cords from the front desk so he could hook his laptop up to the TV, and he set up his laptop playing the second Mighty Ducks — dubbed in Russian.

Sasha claimed to have told Crosby it was a fair trade for Evgeni, after the last two days, and that Crosby had responded by saying it would help him learn Russian if Sasha put on the Russian subtitles. Evgeni was tempted to think Sasha was exaggerating, but Crosby watched the movie intently, like he hadn't already seen it countless times.

***

Evgeni couldn't believe it when it was already time for world juniors again and the lock-out still hadn't been resolved. He and Sasha flew in to North Dakota on the same flight, timing having worked out that they weren't flying with the rest of Team Russia. They'd seen each other on and off since the draft, but Sasha had gone to participate in the World Cup of Hockey and Evgeni hadn't, and their Superleague teams were based a thousand miles apart. It was weirdly nice to be trapped with him in an airplane for hours on end and through layovers and dragging themselves from gate to gate. When they finally got to the hotel, Evgeni was amazed to find he still wasn't sick of Sasha, which was lucky since they were rooming together again.

Sasha was hilarious when he was tired and grumpy, and got even grumpier that Evgeni couldn't hide that he found it so funny. He made the mistake of telling Sasha he looked like a disgruntled sheep, and Sasha kicked him out of the room to take a nap, shoving him out the door along with a team Russia hoodie. Standing in the hall and laughing deliriously to himself — he also found it hard to sleep on planes — Evgeni realized it was Sasha's hoodie, but it fit okay.

Evgeni wasn't unaffected by the long flight, but he just felt so excited, so happy, that he didn't think he could have taken a nap even if Sasha hadn't kicked him out. He was here with Sasha for the next ten days, where they were going to play some great hockey together for Russia, _and_ he was going to get to see Sidney Crosby again.

His English had marginally improved — he could do numbers and some basic nouns, because that was what Natalie was learning and she was his best study buddy — so he was able to ask the front desk what room number Sidney Crosby was in and go find it. 

He knocked, feeling weirdly nervous. They hadn't really been in touch since the draft, what if Crosby wasn't that interested in seeing him? He was rubbing his sweaty palms along the thighs of his team track pants when the door opened, and a damp Sidney Crosby, who was sticking to his shirt and still towelling his hair, was standing there.

"Evgeni!" Crosby said, and Evgeni felt kind of stupid for doubting he'd see that particular smile again. Crosby did some sort of weird motion with his arms, like he couldn't decide whether he should offer his hand, so Evgeni made the executive decision for them both and pulled Crosby into a hug. 

He was rewarded with a squeak and then Crosby's weird honking laughter. Crosby felt bigger, more solid than he had looked six months ago, and the height difference didn't seem as great. Evgeni could feel the definition of muscles through the damp shirt. They parted kind of slowly, and Evgeni knew for his part it was also reluctantly. 

They ended up in the hotel restaurant, where Crosby helped him to interpret the menu. Over steak and vegetables Crosby sketched out some play diagrams on napkins, labelling them with numeric dates without Evgeni having to say much to indicate that was easier for him to read. They were from some famous games: the Penguins SCF in 1991, the Oilers SCF in 1984, the '72 Canada vs Russia. When they were done eating, he folded the napkins carefully up and put them into the hoodie's pocket. 

Their rooms weren't on the same floor, but Evgeni thought Sasha had been napping long enough that he needed to be woken before he made the jet lag even worse, so he brought Crosby back to the room with him.

Sasha was fully dressed and shrugged only half way under the covers. Evgeni shooed Crosby into the room and turned the light on, which made Sasha groan and roll over.

"Sasha, get up, I've brought Sidney Crosby," Evgeni said, poking him in the shoulder. That got Sasha stirring, and he peered around Evgeni like he wanted to be sure Crosby was really there before he bothered to actually get up.

"Sidney Crosby!" Sasha shot out of the bed and threw his arms around Crosby. He seemed more startled than he had when Evgeni hugged him earlier, but then Evgeni hadn't suddenly leapt out of bed to do it.

Crosby said something, and Sasha turned to Evgeni. "He says we should start calling him Sid if we aren't on the ice."

"Zhenya," Evgeni offered, coming closer to them. Sasha said something to Sid that lead to him trying to pronounce 'Zhenya' and not doing a great job. None of the subtleties at the beginning were coming through at all. Sid tried it out a couple more times, but was clearly frustrated by his lack of progress.

Evgeni thought about what he knew of English sounds, and tried to figure out something Sid would be able to pronounce that would be like Zhenya. "Geno?"

"Geno!" Sid could say that just fine and seemed really pleased about it, his crooked grin widening.

At Sid's suggestion they watched Mighty Ducks 2 with Russian dubbing again, because Sid was still convinced this was a successful route to mastery of the Russian language. When they ended up watching it a third time early in the evening on New Year's Eve, Evgeni couldn't resist chirping Sid. He prodded a few specific translations out of Sasha. "New routine, watch Russian every night?" Sid blushed a lot more in response than Evgeni expected, so maybe some of the nuance had been lost.

They were going out with the team later. Despite Evgeni's invitation, Sid seemed hesitant to join them, but Sasha was somehow able to convince him going was a good idea. Evgeni ended up spending New Year with Team Russia and Sidney Crosby.

There was a weird tension between them when midnight came around, and it hadn't dissipated by the time they were all headed back to the hotel. Evgeni could still feel it when they skated onto the ice for the gold medal game four days later. The game was a total disaster — losing 6-1 and Sasha getting injured. The handshake line after was probably awkward but Evgeni felt too numb to really notice.

Sid came by before everyone left to catch their flights, but Sasha was in pain and Evgeni could admit losing maybe sometimes made him kind of a huge jerk, so he got Sid to leave before either of them could say something to him that they'd all regret later.

***

Evgeni kept one eye on the NHL lock-out developments, as the rest of the season wound down, but it was hard not to dwell on how Sid's face looked as Evgeni gently shut the door in it.

When the season ended and the lock-out looked set to drag on indefinitely, playing in the NHL and seeing Sid more than 2 or 3 times a year at tournaments seemed like fantasies. What if there just never was NHL hockey ever again? That seemed as realistic to Evgeni as any other future.

In May, Sasha was back to 100% after rehabbing his dislocated shoulder carefully, and they both went to Worlds. The tournamens went well, he, Sasha, and Semin all tallying some good points, until they played Canada in the semis. There was no Sidney Crosby to play against, but they still lost and ended up in the bronze medal game.

Bronze wasn't nothing, and it was his and Sasha's first time at Worlds, but Sasha seemed a lot more philosophical about the loss. Natalie was good to hang out with when he was in Magnitogorsk, she didn't make him explain why he was upset about bronze. When he visited Sasha in Moscow with Aleksey, they both chirped him about it over drinks.

Evgeni wasn't usually a maudlin drunk, but —

"What if this is it?"

"If what's it?" Aleksey asked.

"Winning bronze, never playing with or against all the best players." He looked steadily at Sasha. "What if the lock-out just doesn't end?"

Sasha didn't look as dismissive as he had about winning bronze. He put an arm around Evgeni, and probably it was patronizing, but it just felt comforting. "Don't you worry Zhenya, you will get to see Crosby on NHL ice one day. This is his draft year, the NHL isn't going to let the new Great One's draft get indefinitely delayed."

Aleksey frowned. "He's really that big of a deal?"

"Second only to me," Sasha chirped, but Aleksey didn't take him seriously enough for that to be effective.

Evgeni felt a little wild-eyed and a lot drunk as he grabbed Aleksey's lapels. "He's the best player, Aleksey. He'll be the best player in NHL, maybe anywhere." 

Aleksey's pats as he disentangled Evgeni's fingers from his jacket were comforting too. "You know you're my oldest friend?"

"Hey," Aleksey protested, offended. "I'm not that much older than you, little Zhenya."

"No, I meant we've been friends for a long time. Max is the only other friend who comes close to as long." Evgeni dropped his head onto Aleksey's shoulder. "Who is your oldest friend, Sasha?"

Sasha got kind of a pinched look, so Evgeni shuffled over to lean against him. "It was my brother," he said quietly. "Now ... I guess Sem, and you." Evgeni tucked himself under Sasha's arm again.

"You can borrow Max and Aleksey sometimes, if you need to," Evgeni told him earnestly, over the sounds of Aleksey protesting his friendship wasn't just booty for professional hockey players.

"Max wouldn't complain," Evgeni said, which shut him up. "Maybe I can just give him to you," he tried to whisper conspiratorially to Sasha.

***

Evgeni was just starting to believe the lock-out wouldn't be indefinite but had already gotten used to the idea that it would at least be another year before Sasha left for America, when the news of an agreement being reached broke. Sasha took the opt-out in his new RSL contract before the lock-out even officially ended. Gonch, who had had plenty to tell Sasha about the Capitals after having played for them for ten seasons, left too — for _Pittsburgh_.

Then the lottery happened, and the Penguins had first overall pick. There was absolutely no way anyone but Sid was going first, which meant they'd be on the same team. It was hard to find good coverage of the draft, but on the morning of his 19th birthday, Evgeni saw Sidney Crosby become a Penguin. As birthday presents went, it rated pretty high.

When the new season started up, and Sasha and Gonch were gone and Evgeni could be certain that Sid was really a Penguin too, it became a little harder to feel excited about spending another year in the Superleague. He tried to think of it as more training. Their new coach was Canadian, and Evgeni felt determined to use that to his advantage - he might have lost Natalie as a study buddy, but the Coach was someone he could theoretically have an entire conversation with.

Sasha sent emails that were an obnoxious mixture of Cyrillic and Latin characters. When Evgeni could successfully interpret them, they talked about NHL arenas and ice, about playing against Sid. About how both their teams were kind of terrible.

The next world juniors experience was lonely; Sasha and Sid weren't there, neither of them had space in their NHL schedules to spend 10 days at the tournament, and everyone else he was used to playing with had aged out. The tournament was held in Canada, where the crowds seemed to like hockey almost as much as Sidney Crosby did. His first game in the tournament, the Canadian crowd was cheering for _him_. It was easy to be sure now, to tell interviewers they'd be seeing him in the NHL next year. He felt certain he'd be there, that he'd be ready.

When Russia lost to Canada in the gold medal game _again_ , the only Canadian he knew anything about was Letang, who also been drafted by the Penguins. He was looking forward to playing with Letang, and was happy to tell any reporter who asked that he was excited to play with Pittsburgh in the fall.

Fortunately the Olympics were on the horizon, and that meant seeing Sasha. Evgeni had hoped Sid would be there too, but he wasn't even on the alternates list, which was completely outrageous. He and Sasha were rooming together again, and as they were the youngest on Team Russia roster and among the youngest in the entire tournament, they were left to their own devices more often than not.

It was good, nice, to be spending so much time with Sasha again. It didn't feel quite the same as before, but Evgeni thought that might be because he felt more comfortable with Sasha, more confident in general. He got to hear lots more about the NHL, and America without the barrier of Sasha's incomprehensible writing. Sasha was constantly telling him about Sid, even when Evgeni didn't ask (and he asked a lot) — about how the press wanted there to be a big rivalry, how they'd been doing interviews together.

Sasha and Sid weren't even on the same NHL team and Evgeni hated giving interviews, but he found himself equal parts jealous and desperate for Sasha to tell him more. Gonch was there too, and he had plenty to share about half a season of actually playing with Sid and the Penguins that were beyond what Sasha could tell him. About how superstitious Sid was, how dedicated, how they wanted to give him a letter. He felt a sense of longing building in his chest. September couldn't have come soon enough for Evgeni.

Russia shut out Canada in the quarterfinals but went on to be shut out of the bronze medal game. But playing with and against real NHL players at the Olympics, not rookies or prospects at junior tournaments, Evgeni could really see his future unfolding before him, what being a professional athlete in the most prestigious league in the world would look like, what regularly going to play at the most prestigious tournament with these players as his teammates and opponents would feel like.

Russia even didn't medal, and that felt terrible on a lot of levels — the coach screaming about national pride didn't help — but past the haze of anger and hating-everyone-ever, Evgeni knew he had played well, that this was a good test, if only in his own mind.

The RSL season wound down, and they sent him off to Worlds. Worlds was felt a lot smaller next to the Olympics, but it had its own prestige and it was thrilling to remember he would be aged out of juniors in only a few months, and that the Olympics and Worlds would where he went for Team Russia. 

Sasha, Semin, and Sid were all there, but everything was new and different, and it never seemed like there was enough time to really see or talk to any of them. Sasha was rooming with Semin, and Evgeni ended up with Gonch. Gonch probably regretted this, because if Evgeni wasn't asking about Natalie, he was going on about Sid and how great it would be when they were all together in the fall. They never ended up playing against Canada, and neither team ended up medalling.

Evgeni was counting the days until he could go to Pittsburgh.

Early in June, Tretiak agreed to a new transfer agreement, but Barry and Brisson seemed suspicious. — "Nothing is signed until it's signed," Brisson had told him on the phone one night. JP and Brisson suggested he fire them to keep them from being tainted by any complicated Russian legalities. Evgeni sat watching Sid and Sasha walk down the NHL Awards red carpet in Vancouver on a shitty stream, and what else could he do but whatever they suggested? Sid, Sasha, the NHL — he wouldn't have any of those things if he didn't manage to get out of Russia. 

It all felt a little more like a spy thriller than Evgeni thought it really should — it was all just paperwork and bureaucracy — but he knew how bureaucracy worked in Russia generally and the Russian hockey world specifically, so he did as they suggested, fired them and hired another agent.

When he hired Meehan, he immediately presented Evgeni with what seemed like the perfect escape clause regardless of the status of the transfer agreement. Evgeni faxed in his two week's notice and finalized some plans for his restaurant.

It had initially just been a stupid idea, barely removed from its ultimate origins in a drunken bet with Anatoly, but the more design work he was involved in, the more research he found himself doing, and the more research he did, the more he liked the symbolism. He was five when the USSR ended, and for fifteen years his parents had raised him with the idea that Russia was supposed to be becoming a better place than it was then.

Between his research and the outright rejection of his resignation (and then the confiscation of his passport!) while the status of the transfer agreement remained in limbo, he started to think things hadn't actually changed much. His design choices were all double-faced — patriotic and subversively educational at the same time. When the press asked about it, he sincerely told them he wanted one in every city.

Evgeni hired a good chef, and whenever he wasn't training, he was there, trying to distract himself. He nagged Sasha into coming down for a visit in July, and he made both a good distraction and a good reminder of what Evgeni was going through all this fear and anxiety for. He needed distracting from the idea that everything was going to go terribly wrong, that Barry and Brisson were going to be in for a big battle if they agreed to take him back. What if the team physically refused to let him leave? What if Pittsburgh couldn't or wouldn't pay whatever transfer amount the RSL demanded? Usually when he shared this Sasha would assure him he would be playing in the NHL come October, like he had been for months, and Evgeni did his best to believe him.

But by the beginning of August, it was clear that Russia wouldn't be signing the transfer regulations they'd agreed to only in June,and that the team had no intention of just letting Evgeni leave. Sasha had already left, flying out of Moscow without any issue.

The degree to which meeting up with one of his agents in an airport bathroom, hiding out in a Helsinki apartment waiting for a visa, and then flying to Los Angeles instead of Pittsburgh felt like living a spy thriller was exhausting.

He just wanted to play NHL hockey, to be where Sid and Sasha were playing NHL hockey.

***

The Russian network was fast anywhere, and Evgeni knew from Max that there had been already some rumbling about him being on the ice with the Kings, even before he gave his first official interview on American soil. He wasn't really sure whether Sasha had been poking into things, but Alyonka showed up at the rink one day during camp. He hadn't seen her in a couple years — maybe at the draft? She wasn't much younger than him, but she seemed a lot more grown-up than the last time he saw her, and certainly more grown-up than he felt right then. He really wished he'd had more time to work on English during the hockey season — cramming last minute studying into June and July while trying to deal with team management breathing down his neck had not gone very well.

It didn't matter though, her Russian was still great and she dragged him off to the mall and made him do things like get some more clothing and sign up for an American cell phone contract. She was programming numbers in before he'd even had a chance to do anything with it.

"Make sure you stay in touch, okay? Russians gotta stick together."

She was looking at him funny, and gave him a tight hug over the center console when she dropped him off at his hotel. "I don't care if you're older than me, Denis isn't here and you clearly need some big sistering — and I have more baby siblings than he does anyway. Call me from Pittsburgh."

He hadn't even arrived in Pittsburgh, was still sitting at the gate in LAX, before he had a text welcoming him to America from, his phone claimed, Sidney Crosby. He didn't have much time to write back, and the shitty translation software meant he wasn't sure what else Sid had said, so he just sent a string of happy faces.

Gonch was there when he got to Pittsburgh, which made everything easier. He and Ksenia and Natalie felt like a home away from home. The first night he was there, he got to see Sid again, and then to sleep in what was going to be his own bed. In the morning, he had eight texts from Sasha telling him about everything he needed to so now that he was thousands of miles away from most of the people he knew and loved. Like always, Sasha had gotten there first by a margin large enough to make him someone comforting who seemed to know what he was doing. These instructions included becoming a less terrible email correspondent.

Gonch was better at acting as the translating go-between than Sasha had been, so he could efficiently tell Evgeni that Sid had invited him out to dinner, and that Sid had earnestly said, "Building chemistry is a really important part of playing together."

Sid dragged him out to restaurants regularly, like a routine, and it became easy for Evgeni to cobble together what he needed to communicate with him — especially now that his best study buddy was starting school. Sid still had a few words from their Mighty Ducks viewings, but his accent was hilariously awful. Together they managed to talk about hockey, food, animals, places they'd visited. Sometimes it was more of a stretch to come up with the necessary English than others, because there didn't seem to a topic Sid wasn't happy to talk about, and that covered a lot more ground than what a kindergartener could provide him.

In December, they went down to DC to play their first game together against Sasha. He had taken to sending Evgeni texts with incomprehensible punctuation emoticons and attempts to speculate on how the game would go. Winning in a shootout wasn't the worst way for Sasha to lose, so it was possible to go out with Sasha after and not find him unbearable. Sid was terrible after losses in a different way, but he was radiantly happy after winning, and chattered happily with Sasha in a hodge podge of English and butchered Russian. Sometimes Sasha would glance over at Evgeni, watching him watch them talk and correct each other, and Evgeni couldn't interpret the look on his face.

Before Christmas, Evgeni felt he had a good enough grasp on Sid's food preferences and on going back and forth between English and Russian food words that he picked where they were going the next time they went out. He insisted on driving, and Sid seemed pretty thrilled with the idea when they got to the Russian restaurant Gonch had recommended. It felt nice to be the one helping Sid with the menu, and even better that Sid was so willing to be helped. Sid drove him back to Gonch's, but Evgeni had a hunch that kept him sitting in the passenger seat thinking for long enough that Sid killed the engine.

"Geno?" He sounded tentative, a little worried, like he couldn't see the play yet. Evgeni took his hand, and Sid smiled at him like a reflex, and Evgeni smiled back because he loved making Sid smile. They sat there, smiling helplessly at each other until suddenly, just like on the ice, Sid was moving, sure and fast. He kissed Evgeni firmly but softly, and Evgeni knew his hunch had been right.

As they made out in the back of Sid's car, he kept muttering about Evgeni's slapshot, his hockey smarts, his skating. At first, Evgeni had chalked it up to them being words Sid knew he knew, words Sid could even mostly manage in Russian, but by the night before Sid had to leave for Dallas and the All-Star Game, he knew better. Evgeni had had girls and even a couple teammates panting after him since going pro, but it had never been about his hockey _skills_ like it was with Sid. The eyes Sid would make at him during practice or from the bench were not that different from the ones he would make while giving Evgeni a blowjob. It was pretty distracting, and mostly what he thought about while Sid was away in Dallas without him.

Evgeni was supposed to be on vacation, but it was just so much easier to find TV coverage of NHL events here that Evgeni found himself watching a press conference where Sasha and Sid sat awkwardly at a table being asked even more awkward questions by reporters. Somehow it seemed even more stilted and terrible than any press scrum Evgeni had seen in the Pens dressing room. Watching them praise each other's hockey and talk about playing together for the first time, something in Evgeni's chest ached. It was good he had so many days to rest before the next game.

They still had some of the break left when Sid was done, so he met up with Evgeni and Talbo in Miami. "I wish we'd been on a line together for more than like 30 seconds," he complained during his recap of the game. "Ovi is so good at getting into the right place for a shot, it would have been fun to be part of that." He prodded Evgeni in the arm until he agreed; he _had_ played on a line with Sasha, and it _was_ fun. "I can't believe neither of us even got a goal."

Talent aside, no one more visibly had fun on the ice than Sasha. "Exuberant," Sid said, when Evgeni tried to explain this over dinner near the end of the trip.

The following week, Evgeni was still only half out his own gear after beating the Panthers in another shut out, snickering to himself as Sid looked at him while Dana was jokingly chastising him about the trouble he'd given his predecessor. "Sewing up hockey pants in March! They probably should have been changed out _last_ January — I can't believe you think I can salvage these." Dana disappeared down the hall, muttering under his breath.

Sid, who seemed as drunk on happiness as he had the day after New Year when they had shut out Carolina and celebrated with the real Russian vodka Gonch had shoved at them, was pantomiming going out, for food Evgeni was 99% sure, if only because Sid rarely wanted to go out for anything else. He helped Sid get changed back into his suit, because Sid was so happy and giggly he could barely coordinate all his limbs with doing publicly indecent things to Evgeni.

He made the executive decision they were getting take out, because Sid was so blatantly unfit to sit down in a restaurant. Evgeni was glad he could go in and tell the Thai place item numbers, if only because he was sure at a drive thru Sid's giggles would have sounded stoned even from the passenger seat. They really didn't need a headline like, RUSSIAN ROOKIES TAKES HIGH ASSISTANT CAPTAIN ON A MUNCHIES RUN. Sasha would never stop chirping them.

In February they had two home games against the Caps. The first was a shutout, and Evgeni knew better than to try to get Sasha to go out with them, but Sid tried anyway. "Hey, it's Sid," was as far as he got before Sasha hung up on him.

The second game was closer, and neither Sid nor Sasha had managed a goal. Under those circumstances it was easier to convince Semin to convince Sasha they should all go to the Russian place Evgeni had been taking Sid to. Standing in the tunnel waiting for Semin to report back, Gonch asked if he wanted a ride home and had quite the laugh when Evgeni answered, "Sid and I are taking Sasha and Semin to the place you recommended." Evgeni didn't understand what was so funny, and neither did Sid.

Sasha was exuberant that night, his arms thrown over Sid and Geno's shoulders whenever his hand wasn't occupied with a drink. Sid was flushed pink, grinning and uncomplicatedly happy. Evgeni's rookie season was going better than he'd ever imagined, even in the dark depths of the lock-out or the fight with when he was scared he would never get to have this. 

In March they went to DC and won again, but Semin had a goal and an assist and took them all to a Russian bar by just ignoring all of Sasha's protests and somehow getting away with it. Sasha and Semin were both actually legal in the US and the waitress seemed to know them, so they didn't have trouble getting all of them served. Sid was fidgety and restless, Evgeni guessed because he rarely drank in public. He stretched out his arm along the back of the booth, not putting it around Sid, but making it available. He kept stealing sips out of Sid's drink, and making Sasha engage Sid in excited conversation when he went to reach for it himself. By the end of the night, Sid was pretty sober, and Sasha had an arm slung around his neck and was, Evgeni was pretty sure, explaining the brilliance of the animal mascot in a TV commercial he had gotten the entire Caps locker room obsessed with. The tips of Sasha's fingers kept touching Evgeni's ear, more and more as Evgeni slumped deeper into the seat.

Eventually, they were at risk of melting into some sort of drunken dogpile, so Semin dragged Sasha home, and left Sid to get Evgeni back to the hotel. He remembered Sid telling Army that "Geno is an idiot who spent all night drinking my drinks for me. He'll probably puke, so you should stay with Max." The next day he was pretty sure Sid had kept waking him up to make him drink more water and Gatorade, and then to take away his phone because, Sid claimed when Evgeni asked him, he kept saying he should text Sasha to tell him he was wrong, the Charmin bears were not the best animal mascots.

***

The Penguins made the playoffs but were eliminated in the first round; the Caps didn't make the playoffs at all. Evgeni went to Worlds, but Sid didn't because he _had a fucking broken foot_ that he'd been trying to hide from Evgeni since the middle of March.

Worlds was being hosted at home, and all of Team Russia's games were at the venue right in Moscow. Evgeni stayed with Sasha in his Moscow apartment instead of a hotel, and when the tournament was over Sasha helped him find a realtor so he could get his own apartment in Moscow.

In June, he and Sasha watched together as Sid cleaned up at the NHL Awards. Evgeni had definitely made the right choice, shelling out for such a big TV and a satellite dish.

It seemed like a good offseason, a good summer. He went on a couple of trips, he caught some fish, he spent a month with his parents and brother and got a puppy. He worked out, he spent some time with Gonch, because it was weird not to see him everyday and Natalie made the most outrageous sad eyes at him if he didn't visit often enough. In August he spent most of his time in Moscow, training and going out with friends. 

But then near the end of August, when his thoughts were starting to turn toward packing up for a new season in Pittsburgh, he was out at a favourite club with bunch of friends, Aleksey and Alexey, Max, Anatoly, Konstantin, Fil, and even his Russian agent who had finally forgiven him for being left out of the loop the previous summer.

He was at the bar getting another round of shots when there was a commotion at the tables they'd taken over. Genady was on the ground clutching a bloody nose and Sasha was storming off. People were already helping Genady up, so he went after Sasha, grabbing his arm.

"What the fuck? We're in a bar, not on the ice!"

Sasha glared at him, but didn't say anything. "What happened?" But Sasha just jerked his arm free and walked out.

Genady wouldn't tell him anything either, not even when Evgeni played the 'you're my agent and if it's about me I need to know' card.

Sasha stopped answering his texts and calls. Semin would answer his calls, but only to hang up on him. The whole situation cast a shadow over the whole of Evgeni's summer and he was so relieved to get away from it, back to Pittsburgh and to Sid.

***

It seemed like every game against the Caps that season was just a parade of hits from Sasha. Evgeni could barely be on shift at the same time without Sasha trying to paste him to the boards or knock him off his feet.

It was upsetting Sid, but Evgeni was able to keep him from doing something stupid. But he couldn't keep the media from noticing, from asking him about the 'feud' he had with Sasha. At least he could honestly say he just didn't know, because even eight months on he had no better answers than he'd had that night.

Getting all the way to the Stanley Cup Final and not being able to share any of that with Sasha was not how Evgeni had imagined his NHL career.

***

It was the Friday evening of the 2009 All Star Weekend, and Geno was totally hammered. Sid was supposed to be showing up soon, but their room was weird and empty right now, and someone had had the bright idea to put them in a room directly across from Ovechkin. It was nearly a whole 24 hours until Geno had to skate, and he was Russian enough to do signings and media hung over if he had to; at least his scheduled signings for the day were done already — Sid would probably be ushered directly to a signing table when he arrived in Montreal.

He was sitting at the bar on the furthest end up from the lobby entrance into the hotel, and it felt private enough to put his head on the bartop. Sid would probably yell at him about the risks of being photographed — the hotel was crawling with media and fans — but Sid _wasn't here_ to yell at Geno. Someone settled heavily into the seat next to him, but seeing who would have involved raising his head.

"Two of what he drink," he heard Ovechkin say to the bartender, and groaned internally. Ovechkin snorted at him, so maybe it had actually been out loud.

"Why are you here?" Geno asked into the counter.

"Getting drunk seemed like a really good idea, and here you are already getting started without me."

"Why are you here, in this seat at this bar _with me_?"

"I thought we should talk. We have to be able to work and play together, make nice in front of fans and the media, for the next two days."

"You didn't care last year."

"I was angrier last year."

"Seemed pretty angry to me in _October_ ," Geno couldn't stop himself from pointing out.

Ovechkin acknowledged that with a shrug and a murmur into his drink. By the time Ovechkin had had enough vodka to be caught up to Geno, Geno had started sobering up, and he wasn't having any kind of talk without being at least as drunk as Ovechkin, so he had to order another vodka. Thank god Sid would make sure he was up in the morning.

"So," Ovechkin said, and just let it hang there like this wasn't all his idea, and frankly all his fault. _Geno_ hadn't punched anyone and then spent more than a year acting like a homicidal maniac going out his way to get in unneeded hits on the ice.

"So?" Geno mimicked back, realizing that for all the bafflement he had expressed to the press, he was actually pretty mad about all of it. "Are you going to tell why you punched Genady?"

"I don't want to." Ovechkin wasn't meeting Geno's gaze.

"But you want to talk? How can we do that?"

"I don't want to, but I will if that's necessary. Just not here." And with that he was throwing money onto the bar and striding away into the lobby like he just expected Geno would follow him. With a sigh, Geno added to the pile of cash and did just follow, managing to catch up in front of the elevators.

"What could possibly have happened between you and Genady that we can't talk about in a noisy bar?"

Ovechkin shrugged, and Geno was really too drunk to be this annoyed. He glowered at Ovechkin until the reached Ovechkin's room, because of course that's where he was taking them.

"I don't have a roommate, because Nicky couldn't come." Geno stared in mounting irritation as he started loosening his tie, opening his cuffs, generally getting comfortable while Geno was left standing awkwardly by the door.

Geno had to clear his throat to speak. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not going out again, might as well act like it." And then the asshole started unbuttoning his shirt. In what he hoped was an alcohol-fueled flash of petty childishness, Geno started undoing his tie, cuffs and buttons too. Why should only of them be comfortable for this?

Geno was breathing hard by the time he'd pulled the shirt tails out of his trousers, and Ovechkin was in an undershirt, bare feet peeking out from his trousers legs. Geno wondered if Ovechkin still slept in stupidly tiny shorts, and had to glance away.

"Are you going to tell me now?"

Ovechkin sighed, sitting on the edge of the nearest bed. He dropped his head between his shoulders, and Geno had to control the impulse to put a hand on his back.

"Genady said some things, that I thought were true, that made me angry."

"What things?"

Ovechkin continued like Geno hadn't spoken. "Things that I'm less sure now are true or were then, but I guess I was afraid were true."

Impatience and curiosity were warring with each other, so Geno sat next to Ovechkin and roughly bumped their knees together, thinking vaguely of the night they were drafted.

As Ovechkin spoke, his words got faster until it was hard to focus through the haze of alcohol. "Genady told me he knew, that it was obvious how I felt, how the rivalry with Crosby was so clearly a smokescreen, and that it was just as obvious you weren't interested, that you were disgusted but were putting up with me only because you needed to for the national team. That _you_ had told him."

"How you felt about what?"

Ovechkin paused in answering, his mouth still open, and turned to look searchingly at Geno. He had no idea what Ovechkin was seeing there, because he really had no idea what Genady thought he knew; he'd never even discussed Ovechkin with Genady outside of their "why did Sasha punch you?" conversation at the time.

"About you and Crosby," Ovechkin finally said, like this made everything very clear and wasn't a repeat of what he'd already said.

"Yes? About how you think you play hockey better than us and can be a big showboating jerk about it?" Ovechkin was getting irritated now, leaning in toward Geno. Before Geno could parse what was going on, Ovechkin had kissed him. _Oh_ , was all Geno could manage to think, until Ovechkin pulled away and had gone back to not meeting his gaze.

"Oh. So ... _feelings_ feelings, that you felt," Geno said, sounding, he was pretty sure, like a total idiot. But — "What does that have to so with Sid?"

Ovechkin sighed again, like Geno was being dense just to make the conversation harder for him. "That I have feelings for both of you, _together_ ," he eventually ground out, and _wow_ , that was quite the ruddy and patchy blush along his neck and collarbone.

It took Geno a minute to drag his eyes back to Sasha's face and process what he'd said. "So you mean that Genady told you I had told him that I thought it was gross that you liked me _and_ Sid even though I would never tell my _Russian agent_ that I was sleeping with my Canadian teammate and captain? And therefor would not have been sharing my opinion about the— the one-on-two crush of a mutual acquaintance — that I wasn't even aware of?"

Sasha coughed and looked away. Well, Geno would probably have punched Sasha's agent too, if he'd made like he knew anything about Geno's sexuality and then implied Sasha was hiding negative feelings about it and shared all of this with said agent. But —

"So this is why you've been angry every time we've played against each other for more than a season?"

"Semin agreed you deserved it. But after Nicky saw the interview Sem gave in October, he asked me what was going on. He didn't agree that 'sublimating my anger through hockey'" — he put on a voice and did the finger quotes and Geno was too drunk not to be laughing — "was how I should deal with it. He's been texting me all day, harassing me to talk to you. He'll be glad to know not being here in person didn't ruin his great plans."

Geno's laughter was either catching or the absurdity if the entire situation was getting to Sasha, because he started giggling too, leaning into Geno's shoulder. They fell back onto the bed laughing, but eventually the room fell silent again.

"You really had feelings for me _and_ Sid?"

Sasha went tense. "Yes, since I found the two of you on the draft floor together. It was so funny during my rookie year, because if it wasn't you demanding to hear all about Sid and the NHL, it was Sid cornering me before or after games to ask me about _you_."

"I never thought you liked Sid like that. Sometimes I wondered if you liked me, but you always seemed to know what you were doing, and you never did anything, so I just assumed I was wrong."

"I did like you. And it's really hard not to like Sid, especially after playing on a team with him. I'm sure you know."

Geno looked away, his throat tight. He and Sid hadn't told Sasha when they got together, because it was new and Geno wasn't sure how Sasha would take it — if he would tell them that they were being selfish, reckless with their careers — but then everything with Genady had happened.

"Yes, it was impossible," Geno agreed, feeling weirdly vulnerable to be saying that to someone and have the other person know anything about the full scope of what he meant.

"Seeing the two of you play together..." Sasha couldn't seem to find his words, but Geno knew how it felt to do it, it wasn't that hard to imagine what it might look like. Eventually Sasha rolled onto his side, propping himself against Geno. 

"I still do."

Geno let himself think that through for a minute, because he'd already asked Sasha a lot of dumb questions during the course of this conversation. "Like you still have feelings for each of us?"

"Both of you." When Geno didn't respond, Sasha continued. "The way you are together. You never told me, but it was easy to see." Geno's heart sped up, and Sasha must have been able to feel how tense he'd gone, because he was quick to add, "Maybe not for anyone, but I was there at the beginning."

Geno dragged his arm toward his face, and saw it was nearly 11. "Sid must have arrived by now," he said to Sasha, and then pulled him off the bed and across the hall.

Sid was on the bed closest to the door, his knee elevated over a stack of hotel pillows he'd pilfered from the other bed. "Hey, G, I wondered when you'd get," he started, looking up from his book, "... back."

Geno was pretty certain they had to look drunk and disheveled, but he was just so happy to see Sid. He towed Sasha toward the bed, and leaned in close to Sid, who smelled wonderful; he must have showered since his flight.

"How is knee?" He touched it carefully.

"Sore, but elevating it does help." Geno loved how Sid had leaned in toward him a bit, and he couldn't keep from pressing their foreheads together.

"Flight okay?"

"I'm lucky it was a bigger plane and I could stretch it out." Geno discovered his fingers were rubbing circles into Sid's knee. Being drunk with Sid was always _great_ , Evgeni's body parts always had such good ideas when left to their own devices.

"Are you going to be okay tomorrow, G? You seem ..."

"Very drunk, Sid, I'm most drunk," he agreed, grinning. "But Sasha wanted to drink also, and talk, and I'm have best idea."

"Yeah?" Sid asked, skeptical, peering around Geno's shoulder at Sasha. Sid's head moving away made Geno sad, so he pressed a knee to the bed so he could put his cheek to Sid's hair without pitching forward.

"Sasha tell about how he likes us," Geno said softly, because he could be loud when he was drunk and Sid's ear was so close he could kiss it, so he did.

"You told Geno you wanted to have a threesome?" Geno nodded enthusiastically against Sid's head, but Sasha answered.

"I'm not say like that," he said, clearly hedging, so Geno grabbed his hand again and pulled him closer.

"Sasha tell me he like us for _years_ , Sid. Years."

Sid always knew what the best thing to do was. He pushed Geno over until he tipped onto the other side of the bed, and then pulled Sasha down onto the bed. "What do you want to do to him?" he asked Sasha.

"I want to taste him," Sasha answered, and Geno felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

Sasha climbed over Sid, but took care with his knee, and settled on top of Geno. The kiss was less tentative, Sasha licking against the seam of his lips, and pressing in when Geno opened his mouth on a gasp. Sasha deftly undid Geno's belt, as unerring as he could be with a puck.

Geno wasn't drunk enough to have whisky dick, but he was only half hard when Sasha pulled his cock out. The calluses on his hand were in different spots than Sid's, and the newness, the specificity of this being _Sasha_ , got Geno hard quickly.

"Sasha," Geno said, breaking the kiss to nose behind his ear and down his throat. But Sasha was pulling away, leaving Geno whining and straining. He moved down Geno's body, taking his cock into his mouth. He shuddered as Sasha went all the way down, and shivered when Sid scratched his nails through his hair.

Everything was wet and warm, overwhelming. His whole life had been upended tonight and Sasha gagging around his cock, moaning greedily, was a visceral reminder. Geno petted Sasha's hair, trying to will himself to last, but he could feel Sasha grinding against the mattress. It was like trying to hold back water with a cracking damn, the force of his orgasm coming over him all at once. Sasha pressed his hips down into the bed, swallowing around him, and Sid tightened his fingers in Geno's hair.

He watched hazily as Sid's hand moved up and down his own cock, his raised knee obstructing some of the view. Sasha scrambled over Geno as Sid tugged him in by the back of his shirt, manhandling him one-handed until he was straddling Sid's thighs. Geno was dopey, come-drunk and actual drunk, but he couldn't stop looking as Sasha bent down to kiss Sid, on the chin, the lips, his forehead and the edge of his hairline.

Sid pulled on Sasha's hip and he shuffled up Sid's body until he was at Sid's shoulder. Geno couldn't decide where to look: Sid's hand was pulling steadily at his cock, but Sasha was getting his own cock out. He was already hard and wet at the tip, inches away from Sid's red, shiny mouth.

Geno barely had time to imagine what it would look like if Sasha pushed his cock into Sid's mouth, because Sid was urging Sasha forward to do just that. He tilted his head just so, letting Sasha fuck all the way into his throat. Geno shuddered, caught between the sight they made and the sense-memory of all the times it was his cock fucking past Sid's lips.

They came that way, Sasha fucking Sid's face and Sid thrashing as he thrust into his own hand. Sid's come striped up his chest, onto Sasha. Sid made Sasha pull out when he came, licking delicately at the head as come spurted over his mouth and cheeks.

Geno slid closer until he could kiss Sid, licking into and around his mouth. He was on the verge of getting hard again, but fatigue was starting to weigh down his limbs. He slung his arm over Sasha's shoulders where he had settled over Sid's good side.

In the morning they were all a sticky mess, Sid bossing everyone around from the bed until he went to take his own shower. Geno was giggly, feeling like some sort of tension that had been stretching on for years had finally snapped.

Sasha was giggling too, playfully shoving at Geno during breakfast, sneaking food off Sid's plate at lunch. During the skills competition he put on sunglasses and a hat with a small Canadian flag stuck in it. When it was his turn, he stole Geno's hockey stick for a two stick shot on goal. It was such an immense relief to be on the ice with Sasha and feel nothing but simple joy rather than apprehension.

***

In February, Geno watched Sasha and Sid what seemed to have been 'almost' a fight — that's what he video he found on YouTube later called it — but neither of them claim to see it that way. Sasha shrugged after the game, and on the bench Sid said it hadn't been unfriendly at all, that the referee was who had made it anything like a fight. After more than a year of Sasha taking runs at him, it was weird for Geno to think they were basically just roughhousing on the ice in the middle of a game like it was nothing.

***

Ending up playing against the Caps in the second round of the playoffs wasn't ideal, but it so much better than the atmosphere of the previous season. Even in game 7, in Verizon Center, where they just kept putting the puck into the net until the score was ridiculously lopsided and Sasha was practically banging his own head against the boards in frustration. Even when Sid managed to steal the puck right off Sasha and go in for one last goal. Even in the handshake line where Sasha tried to explain himself to Gonch, to hug him and make things right between them. Even when Sasha hugged Geno, and told him they had better be bringing him home a cup ring. Even when Sasha and Sid went through a handshake and a hug, and Geno could see the way their heads were tilted together.

By the time Geno was hoisting the Conn Smythe, Sasha was mostly over being eliminated from the playoffs, and just glad that the team that eliminated them — Sid and Geno's team — had been the one to win the Cup. By the time they were rooming together at the NHL Awards that summer, Sasha was smug and happy, and they both felt sure that their future would be in the NHL, and with Sidney Crosby.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from HMS Pinafore. Many thanks to my undisclosed beta and all my cheerleaders on twitter.


End file.
